Love in 100 Words
by kkbeatlesfan
Summary: A series of drabbles relating to the relationship between Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. Some are sweet and funny, others are devestatingly sad. Jon/"Stephen" and Jon/Stephen. Daily Show/Colbert Report


**Author's Note: I've gotta dedicate this one to Midori12, who got me into this drabble challenge! It was fun, yet so tricky to stick with just 100 words, but I did it! So thank you, Midori12, for helping me get involved with this. **

**Warning: Some of these are happy or funny, and some are devastatingly sad and dark. Just to let ya know.**

_**Nightmare**_

Jon stares into the darkness, the street lamp only splashing a small pool of light onto the street. Stephen is far ahead now.

"Stephen?" he calls out, voice echoing against walls of surrounding brick buildings. "What are you doing?"

"Come on, Jon!" Stephen begs.

Jon sprints toward him as fast as he can, but it isn't until he comes clearly into view that he hears that sickening sound. Tires screech, creating black contact marks on the asphalt as Jon looks ahead to witness the most horrifying thing he's ever seen. Blood gushes from Stephen's mouth as he lay there, lifeless.

_**Kiss**_

"Finally," Stephen huffed as he and Jon finally made it all the way up the countless flights of stairs leading up to the rooftop.

"I don't think I've ever been up here before, but it's kind of nice," Jon breathed, his lungs sounding slightly asthmatic. The view of the city _was _beautiful, and a dark curtain of night was speckled with bright, clear stars above them.

"I love you, Jon," Stephen replied shyly.

"What?"

Stephen didn't repeat it, but instead pressed his soft lips against Jon's to finally show him every single ounce of love that was left in him.

_**Traumatic **_

"He's not going to make it," the doctor notified Jon in the waiting room, immediately causing his world to sputter to a stop.

_Stephen was fine just 24 hours ago, and now he's going to die?_

"No!" Jon mumbled into his sleeve. The doctor left the room without looking back, and soon enough Jon found himself completely alone in the world.

Six months later, the world was introduced to a new program in the _Report's _timeslot. Jon was there to ring in the new host, John Oliver, but secretly sobbed backstage. Things would never be the same without him. Never.

_**Murder**_

"_You rot in hell, you heartless fuck!" _Stephen screamed as he was detained by security guards in the packed courtroom. Tears streaming down his face, he was led outside and placed on a bench. He couldn't bear to look that horrible beast in the eye, the crazed maniac that cornered his best friend, his _lover, _Jon Stewart, before stabbing him six times in the chest, coldly and cruelly, the day that would clearly go down as the night when Stephen's world was completely torn apart. Stephen would never be the same, and nothing could be done to bring Jon back.

_**Home**_

One sunny summer afternoon, a folded, yellowing atlas was tossed on the couch beside Jon.

"What the hell is this?" Jon asked quizzically. He picked it up to find that it was flipped open to Stephen's home state of South Carolina, and Charleston was circled in glaring red ink.

"Can we take a road trip? You know that my family back home has been dying to meet you," Stephen begged hopefully, his brown, puppy-dog eyes shining beautifully in the sunlight. Jon looked over the map carefully and turned it over in his hands, simply thinking.

"When are we going?"

"Tomorrow."

_**Holiday**_

Jon flipped the newspaper to finish his daily crossword puzzle before he heard Stephen pad into the room.

"We need to talk," he began immediately.

"About what?"

"We've never discussed what we're going to do for the holidays! I'm _Catholic, _you're _Jewish…_entirely different!"

"Doesn't matter to me. We'll work it out later, okay?"

"What even happens on Hanukah?"

"We celebrate for eight days, then on the last day we light all eight candles on the Menorah."

"So, what are _we_ supposed to do?"

"We _could _light eight branches of the Christmas tree on fire."

"Goddamnit, Jon!" They exploded into laughter.

_**Prank**_

"I have something for you," John Oliver smirked, standing in the doorway of Stephen's office. His hand held a lottery ticket, given to him by Jon to deliver. John handed it to Stephen silently, and he scratched off the silver backing.

"Oh my God!" Stephen gasped, a grin crossing his face.

"What, what is it?" John asked, trying to act surprised.

"I WON!" Stephen screamed gleefully. He discussed his plans with John for fifteen minutes before he finally explained that Jon sent him to deliver a fake.

"GODDAMN YOU JON!" Jon heard through the walls as he erupted into laughter.

_**Scars**_

Jon cautiously and tenderly ran his fingers across the four now fish belly white scars he had noticed so long ago but never had the guts to ask about on Stephen's forearm. Each one perfectly parallel with the others, all horizontally aligned like stripes on the American flag. Stephen knew Jon didn't know what to say, so he'd say it for him.

"That happened so long ago," he said, Jon looking up to meet his twinkling brown eyes. Jon didn't need to as what they were from or why he did it… he didn't need to judge.

"I love you."

_**Sketching**_

Jon stared at the mess of scribbles covering the blue paper in front of him on the desk. He thought his last episode of the show would be a lot easier than this. Everyone had already packed up and gone home forever, even though filming ended just fifteen minutes before.

Someone appeared in the darkness and approached him at the desk, but Jon hardly noticed. He was busy admiring his latest and last drawings on _Daily Show _paper.

Stephen caught also caught interest.

"We should frame that."

"Sure you're ready to quit _the Report?"_

"As ready as I'll ever be."

_**Warmth**_

Sunlight kissed their faces as they lay there in bed beside one another for nearly the hundredth time. It was early on a Sunday morning when Jon finally asked the all important question.

"So… when are you going to move in with me?"

Stephen thought for a moment: "I guess I haven't really thought about it, and you've never asked before."

"Have you thought about it now?"

"Yes."

"Yes, you've thought about it, or yes, you'll move in?"

"Both," he replied softly as he rolled over and pressed his face into the older man's bare shoulder, cascading his warm breath.

_**Solace**_

"What are you reading?" Jon asked Stephen as he entered their shared bedroom on the day when both of them would finally be entering retirement.

"_The Hobbit," _he answered simply, showing him the cover.

"Of course. Doesn't that ever get old? You've probably read it ten times."

He shook his head, "Thirteen, actually."

"Why do you read those books so much?"

"It helps me cope when I'm stressed out. And so do you."

Before Jon knew it, Stephen was standing up with his arms wrapped around him in a tight hug.

"But I don't know what I'd do without you."

_**Drink**_

"Stephen, get off the fucking table! You're making an ass of yourself!" Jon shouted at the younger man. Stephen was by now completely sloshed, and Jon wished he hadn't left him alone with Steve and Ed.

"Whaddareyoudoinghere?" Stephen slurred as he stared at the older man below him. "Jon-fucking-Stewart, everybody! Best goddamn man alive…"

"Stephen, I'm flattered, but will you please just come down?" Jon said, now trying his hardest not to laugh. Stephen slowly stepped down, clinging to Jon for support.

"Couldn't you have just cut him off?" Jon snarled to the bartender.

"He only had half a beer!"

_**Game**_

"Can't we play a different game?" Stephen whined as he plucked the numerous blue and pink pegs out of his _Life _game piece.

"Sure. I still can't believe you Catholics with your brood of twenty kids," Jon laughed as he pulled three pegs out of his car. How many do you have over there?"

He counted each tiny peg representing a make-believe child. "Nine. Still less than my real family."

Jon shrugged. "So what _do _you want to play?"

"Well, let's see… _Uno_ is for Latinos…"

"Not necessarily."

"_Clue?"_

"Okay, we can play _Clue."_

"I'm Miss Scarlet… she's a babe."

_**Love**_

"I don't know if you feel the way I do…" Stephen stuttered as he tried to come up with the right words. "But I think I love you."

He stood, alone in front of a mirror, rehearsing the words he hoped that one day he'd say to Jon. Life was never like the movies, so there was always a lurking overhang of rejection. He was just going to say it.

The right time arrived after a meeting in Jon's office. He slowly repeated those lines just as he rehearsed, then repeated it countless times, years after that. _"I. Love. You."_

_**Death**_

Stephen couldn't imagine Jon living even a month longer, let alone four. He secretly had to prepare himself for the inevitable: his lover was dying.

In Jon's final hour, Stephen took him out on their porch swing to watch the waves lap over the beach. A radio was playing "In My Life" by the Beatles beside them as they rocked.

"I'm sorry it's come down to this," Jon whispered, "There's so much about you that I'm gonna miss."

Stephen buried his face in Jon's shirt. "I love you…"

"_In my life, I love you more," _Jon recited the song's lyric.

_**Hate**_

"That _asshole," _Stephen cursed under his breath.

"Who are you talking about?" Jon asked quizzically.

"John-fucking-Oliver. I hate him."

"Why? He's a good guy!"

"He's got that _stupid _British accent… you can't understand him! He's got those ridiculous glasses… he looks like goddamn Harry Potter!"

Jon knew Stephen wasn't getting worked up just over that: "Tell me the truth. What's you're real problem?"

"I drew Ed's name for the Secret Santa drawing, and I have no idea what to get him."

"What? What's that got to do with John?"

"I slipped him twenty bucks to make sure I got _you."_

_**Seduce**_

"When does this game end?!" Stephen gasped beside Jon on the sofa. The older man's attention had been affixed to the Mets' baseball game all afternoon after it had gone into extra innings.

"Soon," he said simply, not removing his attention from the screen. Stephen was going to get Jon's attention one way or the other.

"Son of a bitch!" Jon hollered. The Mets had just lost yet another game. "When are the fucking Mets going to win one?!"

"Jon," Stephen said, leaning in closer, "It'll be okay."

"No, it…" Jon began before Stephen's lips cut him off.

"Better?"

"Better."

_**Old**_

Jon sat down on the couch beside Stephen, rested his arm firmly behind his head on the back of the couch, and waited for the younger man to say something.

"Jon?"

"Yeah?" Jon said as he flipped to the nearest ESPN channel to tune into _SportsCenter._

"Would you want to grow old with me?"

The words struck him as odd. Of course he couldn't imagine being with anyone else… Stephen was his, and they were completely dedicated to each other.

"Yes."

"Are you sure? What about erectile dysfunction?"

They both burst into laughter: "I don't think we'll have to worry…"

_**Song**_

Jon and Stephen were still panting and perspiring from what happened a few moments ago. Oddly enough, Stephen seemed deeply entranced in thought as he stared up at the ceiling that hung above them.

"Why did Paul Simon get up to wash his face?" he asked suddenly.

"What?!"

"You know, in his song, 'Cecilia': '_Making love in the afternoon with Cecilia up in my bedroom, I got up to wash my face, then I go back to bed, someone stay in my place?_'" he sang in his deep voice. "I mean, should I wash my face right now?"

Jon facepalmed.

_**Child**_

"Goodnight kids," Jon managed to say through all his pain.

"Goodnight," they replied, still upset over the situation. He still didn't know why his wife left without even thinking about the kids. Leave it to Stephen to show up, be there for his family, and lighten the mood.

"What're you doing?" Stephen said as he entered the room. "You've gotta check under the bed!"

Jon smiled for the first time in days as he watched Stephen get down on all-fours and check under each bed, occasionally tickling the kids for a laugh.

He no longer could imagine life without him.

_**Poem**_

"I don't get this poem," Stephen sighed as he flipped through yet another poetry book at the bookstore. Steve looked over his shoulder to find that he was reading a selection by Silvia Plath.

"She killed herself by sticking her head in an oven, you know," Steve said proudly. "I don't get the poem, either."

Stephen flipped to another page and read on, stopping at one by Emily Barrett Browning.

"_I love thee to the depth and… breadth?"_ he stopped, "What the fuck is 'breadth'?"

"I have no idea. I think you'll have to actually write a poem for Jon."

_**Insane**_

It had been 22 days since he'd been outside last, 21 since he'd been wearing any other clothes besides a cotton hospital gown.

"Stephen?" a familiar voice called his name. He bolted up immediately.

"Jon?" he called out, seeing no one. He sullenly fell back down again until he heard it again.

"Stephen!"

It was close now. _God, was it close. _It felt… real. Stephen's eyes were closed, but he could almost see Jon approaching him.

"Look."

Stephen opened his eyes and glared up at Jon, who was now wearing the same blue robe. He finally didn't feel so alone.

**A/N: Well, tell me what you thought of these random drabbles! It was my first attempt, but I think it all ended up okay. Peace, Love, Colbert! **


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